Looking At You
by birdandherhound
Summary: One-shot. The Queen in the North and her sworn shield share a private moment.


Sansa stood and made to exit the large room, her advisers bowing their heads and muttering niceties. "Clegane," called Sansa sharply, beckoning to the large man standing behind her. With heavy, clanking steps, he trailed her without speaking. She stopped short of the large door leading into the corridor beyond until he pulled it open, seemingly with no effort at all.

"Your Grace," he said quietly, never looking at her face, keeping his eyes open for any threats. The Northmen were all smitten with their Queen in the North, but even in Winterfell, there were traitors. Sansa's brother Bran had learned that lesson early.

Sansa walked quickly, though Sandor kept up with her effortlessly. As tall as she had grown, he still towered over her, and his strides were larger than hers by half. They did not speak or exchange glances, not a single word on the walk from the Great Hall to her chambers. The eldest Lady Stark kept no guards except her Sworn Shield, the burned dog, Sandor Clegane.

Sansa's already hurried pace quickened as she climbed the steps to her chamber. This time she did not bother to wait for him; she flung the door open herself, and he slammed it shut behind him. She turned around quickly, skirts casting a wide circle around her. He was staring at her, looking at her in the eyes. "You shouldn't look at me so, Clegane. It isn't proper." The corner of her mouth turned up slightly.

Sandor grabbed her roughly with one hand on each arm, pressing them flat against her sides. "You don't like it when I'm proper." He shoved her down onto the bed and crushed his mouth against hers. She parted her lips and he pushed deeper into her mouth until she had to pull away to gasp for breath. The young queen buried her hand in her lover's hair and her head in his neck, kissing and biting him until she heard a low growl in his throat.

"Up, Your Grace," Sandor rasped as he pulled her to her feet and began unlacing her gown as quickly as his fingers would allow.

Sansa squirmed away from him. "I think not." Sansa smiled at his confusion and frustration. He had undressed her a thousand times before, and she had never protested. "You first." He didn't move; he kept his customary scowl in place. "You may start with your cloak, _ser_. This was not a request." Sansa folded her arms across her chest and waited until he began unfastening his cloak.

Sandor removed his armor piece by piece and laid it beside him, the metal making loud clinking noises. By the time he was down to his smallclothes, Sansa was having trouble staying still. His chest was broad and covered with hair, every bit the man she had fantasized about since the tourney at King's Landing. His black hair fell nearly to his shoulders and Sansa's eyes trailed from them down his arms to the giant hands that had brought her to her peak so many times before. She could feel the wetness between her thighs, but she willed herself to stay calm and keep her voice even.

"Keep going, Clegane. I'm afraid you aren't finished." Sansa's heart was beating hard, and she was sure Sandor could see the flush creeping from her chest, up her neck, and to the top of her ears. She forced herself to keep her eyes on his as he reluctantly removed the last of his covering until he was standing before her, completely bare.

Sandor was hard; Sansa knew he was frustrated and ready. "Sansa, what-"

"I love looking at you," she murmured. Sansa remembered a time when she had not. She had thought him ugly and cruel. But he was beautiful… muscled and scarred from battle, strong and brave and the knight she'd always wanted. Sansa approached him slowly and kissed the scars on his chest before turning her face upward and placing her lips on his. She slipped her tongue between his lips and pressed her body against his chest before turning around and allowing him to begin undressing her.

As soon as he was finished and her gown was pooled around her feet, he was pulling her over to the bed and down on his lap. Their kisses were deep and he was moaning already before she straddled him. Sansa let out a gasp when he was completely inside her. With her new engagements with her council, she found the time between their lovemaking growing longer and longer as of late, and she began thinking about him at inappropriate moments.

Sandor buried both his hands in her hair and pulled her deeper into their kiss as he pushed up against her. Moaning into her lover's mouth, Sansa rocked back and forth, keeping the pace slow. Sandor broke off their kiss and leaned her back, paying attention to each breast in turn, nibbling and sucking on them lightly, bringing cry after cry from Sansa.

Sandor smiled. "Your Grace, the sounds you are making are _most_ improper." Sansa put her hands on his chest and pushed him backward away from her, scowling, but Sandor's smile didn't falter. "As is this." He withdrew from her and flipped her over until she was on her hands and knees and he was behind her, inside of her, and thrusting in quick and hard. He was breathing heavily on her ear and asking her if she liked it, did she love him, was she his. The answer to his questions was always, "Yes, yes." Her Hound had always known what she wanted…what she _needed_.

Sandor reached between her legs and found her nub and pressed gently on it, rubbing small circles as he continued in and out of her. Sansa buried her face in the bedcovers, muffling her moans as she let her pleasure take over her. Her mind went white and blank and she gave one last cry.

Sandor finished quickly after her, and after he withdrew, they laid together with his arms around her, as they always did. And he whispered, "I love you, little bird," as he always had.


End file.
